Sliding
by girl in the glen
Summary: A little vignette after the Off Broadway Affair.


Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, agents of the UNCLE, were waiting to see a man whose encounter with a THRUSH agent had prompted him to contact their Chief, Alexander Waverly. He knew the head of UNCLE Northwest through a common membership in The Club, and from his years in British Intelligence. When the THRUSH started courting MacKenzie Dobbs as a potential ally, the wiley former intelligence man knew who to call without raising a red flag in the enemy's camp.

As they waited, the UNCLE agents were deep in conversation concerning an earlier affair in which Illya had participated in a very different type of undercover activity, something that had actually been quite a public display.

"That's one show that will not be mourned for closing early." Illya Kuryakin was situated in the comfort of a sumptuous orange velvet chair, one of the design quirks of 1966. Nearby, and not surrounded by orange, his partner grinned at the blond's statement.

"Oh, I don't know Illya, it had some highlights." If Napoleon Solo knew anything, he knew that his friend had hated being dressed up like a chorus boy in a Tibetan musical, let alone tied up in that outfit by a THRUSH with another set of nefarious plans.

"Really Napoleon? Now I know you are simply trying to humiliate me further. When the curtain closed on that farce of play the public was spared the agony of sitting through what is most probably the worst thing I have ever seen on a stage." The smile on Napoleon's face was additional proof that his public humiliation was something his friend would continue to enjoy, at the Russian's expense of course.

"As I recall you received several phone numbers while running around in those, um... tights. I say anything the girls like is worthwhile, and the girls really seemed to like you in tights." Illya's glare could have powered headquarters had it been hooked up to a generator.

Just then the door to the inner office opened and a young woman with dazzling red hair emerged. She smiled at the two men and proceeded down a corridor that led to other offices, other girls in tight skirts and clingy blouses.

"I'm beginning to think Mr. Waverly and his friends all have the same taste in women's clothing." That brought a small smile to the Russian's face. He had to agree and tucked that little tidbit away for later. For now they had to keep up appearances and act like proper UNCLE agents.

Appearing in the doorway was a tall man, grey but still youthful looking for what must have been his seventy years. Napoleon and Illya stood, responding in kind as MacKenzie Dobbs extended his hand and greeted Alexander's agents.

"Please, come in and have a seat. If you're anything like me you've had quite enough of all of that orange and green... it's quite a riot out there." His accent was still in tact as he spoke, and he motioned Napoleon and Illya to sit down in matching leather club chairs that were part of a group of four. It was a conversation area, a designation of purpose in this immaculately designed space. Illya took note of the very careful placement of each piece of furniture, wondering if it was the work of his interior designer or a reflection of the owner's own demanding standards. Either way it was both comfortable and serviceable, something he found immensely satisfying.

Napoleon was thinking of something entirely different as his eyes were drawn to a set of photographs that featured Dobbs, mostly with men and women in uniform. One of them had a younger version of his boss.

"Is that Mr. Waverly in the photograph with you? The question was met with an affirmative nod from the older man.

"Yes, we were both serving in British Intelligence during the war; we were part of an extraordinary group, many of them gone now. Alexander carried on his work while I succumbed to the business world." He wasn't apologizing for amassing his wealth, certainly no one else was better equipped to handle it.

"You seem to have done well, sir. It is commendable to be successful at whatever you put your hand to do." Illya didn't judge a man for choosing commerce, but he recognized the manipulative nature of this man, the probable outcome of whatever he was involved with.

"And you are Mr. Kuryakin. Alex and spoken highly of you both, but obviously with some satisfaction at having a Soviet in his arsenal. How do you like the West, Mr. Kuryakin?" Was there something in his tone? Napoleon caught it, saw the visible recognition of it in his friend's subtle facial expression.

"I am pleased to be a part of UNCLE, Mr. Dobbs. Whether it be in the East or the West, the purpose of my work remains the same." Lines were drawn, both men stood behind his own.

"So, Mr. Dobbs, what exactly is it you have to share concerning the encounter with this individual from THRUSH? You didn't give us a name that I am aware of." Napoleon needed to reel this in, get on with the business at hand.

"Yes, yes of course. I called Alexander because of a peculiar encounter I had with someone who seemed to me a very obvious agent for THRUSH. He invited me to a gathering with a few of his associates, assuring me that I would find the subject of great interest. When he handed me his card, well... here it is...' He reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a business card that was embossed with a familiar logo.

"THRUSH. I wasn't aware they had new calling cards." Napoleon was a little surprised at such a bold tactic; inviting someone like MacKenzie Dobbs to a THRUSH enclave seemed brazen even for someone representing the Hierarchy.

Dobbs smiled, but there was something behind it that made both of the UNCLE agents feel as though he wasn't being entirely forthcoming.

"How, if I may inquire, did you happen to meet this individual?" Illya wasn't going to back down from being a part of this interview, in spite of what he suspected was Dobb's attitude towards him.

"I was at a little soiree aboard a friend's yacht, this fellow was one of the guests. I have no idea how he knows Charles." Napoleon's expression asked for a last name.

"Oh, sorry. Rannier, Charles Rannier. He is the owner of Rannier Hotels, you've probably heard of him." Illya detested name droppers.

"Yes, his chain is well known as are his friends, many of whom have been linked to subversive organizations. I am surprised that you would number him among your friends." Illya was having a bad feeling about all of this. Perhaps Mr. Waverly thought well of MacKenzie Dobbs, but right now his impression of the man was less than favorable.

"You are quite right, Mr. Kuryakin. The fact of the matter is, I needed a ruse of some sort to get you here. Alexander was most obliging in sending his two top men, but then I requested it. He never suspected a thing."

With that brazen statement, Dobbs stood as though to summon support. Instead the door to his office burst open to reveal Alexander Waverly and an impressive number of agents.

"You're wrong MacKenzie, I have suspected you for some time. I don't know how you descended into this abyss of wrong thinking and bad companions, but it's over now. We have enough on your activities to see you safely to the door, as it were. We are sending you back to England, and good riddance man." Waverly was nearly red faced from his outburst. Clearly the friendship had been strained by his knowledge of Dobb's affiliations with subversives and criminals like THRUSH. What had been done in secret was now illuminated under the light of Waverly's revealing investigations.

Napoleon and Illya were surprised by this turn in events. Their briefing on Dobbs had not included any hints that their superior suspected him of collusion of any sort with the enemy... any enemy.

Solo and Kuryakin left Mr. Waverly to deal with the aftermath of this encounter, still wondering about the friendship, the apparent betrayal... all of it smacking of war time espionage and perhaps the result of it.

"Do you think he will start up again, simply reroute his agenda from a new location?" Illya had his doubts about containing a man with Dobbs' obvious resources.

"I don't know Illya, the entire thing is slightly baffling to me. I mean, here was a man with everything he could want, with a background in service to his country and to battling oppressors, but then he chooses to join those he once called enemy. What lures a man into that type of betrayal of his own standards? I just don't understand it."

Illya considered his friend's question, recalling the difficulties of balancing his own loyalties between a country he loved for the sake of being a son of his homeland, and a vow to maintain peace and equality under the flag of UNCLE. His own dichotomous situation might have made it difficult for someone other than him, whose ideals were as firmly rooted as Waverly's and Napoleon's. Someone like Dobbs, without an unwavering allegiance to that higher calling, might be subject to subversive influences.

"He lacks something from within, my friend. We don't know how or why some of us are imbued with the fervency of fighting for a cause, but obviously many are lacking. In the final analysis it is a matter of character, I suppose. And Dobbs lacks any of that very necessary attribute."

Napoleon mulled that over for a few seconds.

"Character. I guess you're right. The difference between doing the right thing or the wrong thing is a matter of character.' A grin lit up the American's face.

"I guess we have a little of that in our make-up. By the way, that make-up you wore during the play..." Illya groaned at the reference, once again, to the play.

"Really Napoleon? In the midst of a serious discussion on character and ethics, you bring that up?" Laughing at his friend's outburst, Napoleon couldn't help but respond.

"Well, we were talking about character, and that reminded me that you played a character..."

They didn't settle anything, but as they made their way back to Headquarters each man was inwardly grateful for the other, and for the excellent character he possessed.


End file.
